


love in the time of paintball

by cherrybomb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Community (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, First Kiss, Friendship, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Paintball, but i stand by it, every ep of community is crack taken somewhat seriously, i mean this is crack taken somewhat seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybomb/pseuds/cherrybomb
Summary: When Stiles started the study group he had two goals in mind: to pass Spanish class, and to inch his way closer to Lydia, the beautiful redhead who sat in front of him. He did not anticipate the lovable group of weirdos he’d get instead. And he definitely did not anticipate Derek Hale.A Community AU in which there is paintball, betrayal, a Denny's grand slam, and absolutely no studying.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 177





	love in the time of paintball

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this very quickly while under the influence of some truly terrible wine. Please feel free to point out any mistakes, though I do hope I caught them all.
> 
> This was inspired by a rewatch of community. You probably don't need to know community to read this, but I still highly recommend watching community. I suppose Stiles is an Abed/Annie hybrid. Scott is Troy, obviously. Jackson isn't really in this, but he's also a Troy-like figure? Allison fills Britta's role, Peter as Pierce, Lydia as an Annie/Shirley combo, and Derek as the world's worst Jeff Winger. I have a few other ideas in this 'verse I'd love to get out at some point. Maybe next time I buy wine I'll be inspired again. Only time will tell. Please enjoy and leave comments if you can!

love in the time of paintball

When Stiles started the study group he had two goals in mind: to pass Spanish class, and to inch his way closer to Lydia, the beautiful redhead who sat in front of him.

He’d hoped they would build a rapport. Maybe establish a few inside jokes, get some froyo, and kiss tenderly at one of the seemingly endless themed dances thrown by Beacon Hills Community College. He thought he’d have his first girlfriend and maybe a B-. He did not anticipate the lovable group of weirdos he’d get instead.

That first day in the library when Lydia had actually shown up he’d been over the moon. Then Scott had arrived, with his floppy hair and big brown eyes and a crooked smile Stiles just couldn’t turn away. With Scott came Allison, the terrifyingly intense older-but-still-cool student with misleadingly innocent dimples, who also really just needed to pass. Then Jackson, who Stiles insisted to this day was his high school nemesis, despite Jackson not seeming to realize they’d even gone to school together at all. Lydia had invited Jackson for being cute, the same reason Stiles had invited  _ her _ in the first place. His plan was violently defenestrated the second their eyes met across that accursed fake wooden table.

He’s still not sure how Derek, who’d faked his way into a senior position at a local law firm with a computer printed degree saying he’d graduated summa-cum-bullshit from the University of Doesn’t-Exist, or Peter, Derek’s creepy uncle with a penchant for inappropriate comments who’d been taking classes here since he was Stiles’ age, ended up involved in this whole mess.

And he’s  _ really  _ not sure how he ended up running down the linoleum-tiled hallway with Scott at his side, dodging paintballs from the Chess Club and diving for cover in a random classroom. However it happened, in the end, Stiles was just happy it did.

So yeah, fine, he didn’t get the girl or whatever. But he got Scott, the kind of dorky best friend he’d only ever imagined in his wildest childhood dreams. Plus, the whole group was family now, forged through a bond made up of the blood, sweat, and shenanigans they’d wandered into over his first two semesters in college.

As a group they were all sort of assholes and he doesn’t think any self-respected psychologist would call their general dynamic healthy, but he liked them. After eighteen long years of sitting alone at lunch, he’ll take what he can get, friendship wise.

Besides, he may not have actually gotten Lydia in any sort of romantic sense, but they still got along like a house on fire. Jackson could be all right too, Stiles supposed, on rare occasions. Peter was weird, but there was no denying the entertainment factor of keeping him around. Allison was cool, and Stiles had edited the ten-year plan to win Lydia’s affection into a much more streamlined help-Scott-kiss-Allison plan that was quickly entering its final stages.

And Derek - Stiles swallowed thickly - was also cool. Older. Handsome. Thinly veiled rage issues. Not to mention he was actually fluent in Spanish and was taking the class as an easy A. Derek was everything Stiles never knew he needed to spark a latent sexuality crisis. Derek was aloof and rude, but nice when Stiles needed him to be, even if he didn’t  _ know _ he needed someone to be nice to him.

Derek was - currently climbing into the classroom through an open window, wrinkling his precious suit jacket.

On the other side of the room, Scott took harried puffs from his inhaler, revolver dangling at his side as he pressed his back against the door and slid to the ground. Weakly, he said, “We have to go back. Allison-”

“She’s gone, man,” Stiles said. “Don’t let her death be in vain.” The plan did not involve getting shot - or paint on their clothes - just to make a statement.

“What the fuck is going on?” Derek asked once both feet were planted firmly inside the building.

“Derek!” Scott cheered. “Brother, we thought you were dead!”

“I - _ what? - _ I was taking a nap in my car and when I got up I was  _ accosted _ by some kids in the parking lot -”

“Were you hit?” Stiles asked, jumping down from where he was perched on a desk to inspect Derek’s clothes. His hands fluttered over the silky material of Derek’s suit jacket at he searched for splatters of paint.

“What, no, get off of me.” Derek shoved Stiles’ hands away, the tips of his ears gone red. “Can you please explain why has our campus turned into Band of Brothers if the band of brothers were middle schoolers?”

“It’s paintball, dude,” Scott panted from his place by the door, “whoever wins gets priority registration.”

“So that means I get shot at just walking through the parking lot?” Derek snapped. Stiles watched as the realization dawned on Derek’s face. “That means...I could pick all Monday classes. Six day weekend.”

“Six day weekend,” Stiles confirmed, checking his rounds. He had four paintballs left and a labyrinth of wild unclaimed hallways between him and a refill. “Allison and Jackson are down. Lydia and Peter are holed up in the cafeteria. If we get back there we can get you a gun, get me and Scott some refills, and win this bitch.” Stiles walked over to the emergency fire escape map of the floor posted by the door. “If we take this hallway, we can make it to the cafeteria in less than 12 parsecs.” For Derek’s benefit, he added, “We’re going for a bit of a Star Wars theme.”

“And you think you’re the Han in this scenario?” Derek said dryly, tugging on the brown vest Stiles had stolen from the costume department.

“And I’m Luke Starwalker!” Scott chirped.

_ “Skywalker,  _ jesus, we’re watching the original trilogy the second this is over. Derek, you can be Chewie. Or maybe C3PO.” Derek glared, which had been Stiles’ goal. “All right, let’s get down to business.”

The door creaked as he pulled it open and the three of them stepped slowly into the hallway. Stiles gripped his gun tightly as they moved down the abandoned hall, stepping around knocked over trash cans and general litter.

They reached the cafeteria easily. Too easily.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Stiles said as he pushed open the door. Inside they found their stronghold completely destroyed, chairs overturned and paint splattered the walls.

Scott kneeled, hanging his head, and pressed a hand to the floor. “My god. What happened here?”

“Looks like we missed a bloodbath.”

“What is wrong with you two?” Derek pushed passed them to grab a fire extinguisher off the wall and spray the small fire smouldering in the corner.

“Look,” Scott pointed to an overturned table, where a stylish pink heel could just be seen poking around the edge. They ran to check it out and found Lydia on the ground, her silky white blouse covered in green paint.

“No,” Stiles cried, sinking to his knees. He gently pushed the hair out of her face. “Lydia. Who did this?”

She coughed. “Greenberg.”

Stiles paused. “You got taken out by the  _ Greenberg?” _

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes slipped closed. Stiles clutched her hand. There was a moment of silence before Lydia sat up.

“Peter?” She called out. Stiles jumped as the man in question appeared from underneath a pile of old newspapers. He had red paint covering his entire face, dripping around his grin like blood. God, he was creepy. “Allison and Jackson went to Denny’s, wanna meet them?”

“Sounds good.” Peter and Lydia chattered idly as they left the room.

“And then there were three,” Scott breathed.

“Ssh.” Derek held up a hand, head tilting as he listened for something in the distance. “Do you hear that?”

Stiles strained his ears. “I think it’s music,” he breathed.

“But no instruments,” Derek said. They shared a panicked look.

_ “Glee Club,”  _ he hissed, ducking down. The doors burst open and the rhythmic sounds of Bon Jovi’s  _ Shot Through the Heart _ filled the room.

Scott poked his head over the table to shout, “God, that is so lame!” and was rewarded with a paintball to the shoulder. “Aw, man.”

Stiles had just enough time to give Scott a mournful high five before Derek clamped his fingers around Stiles wrist and pulled across the room, staying low to the ground.

“I will  _ not  _ be killed by the Glee Club,” Derek hissed. They hunkered down behind the salad bar and searched for an escape.

A Glee Clubber appeared around the corner and Stiles blasted him without hesitation, revealing their location to the rest of the club.

“Go for the coffee bar!” Derek shouted, and Stiles tucked his gun into the back of his pants before running to dive over the counter with Derek hot on his heels. Derek pulled down the metal shutter, protecting them from the assailants outside, before rolling off the counter and directly onto Stiles.

_ “Oof,  _ dude, watch the goods,” Stiles said, shoving Derek’s elbow out of his gut. That left Derek hovering over him in plank formation, their faces inches apart. Stiles blinked. “Hi.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek grunted as he rolled off of him.

_ “Dude,  _ you were hit!” Stiles pointed at the red blotch staining Derek’s button down.

Derek touched his side, fear in his eyes. “It’s blood,” he breathed out, relieved. “Thank god, it’s only blood.”

Derek unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, and Stiles grabbed handfuls of paper napkins to prevent himself from grabbing a handful of chiseled abs. He kneeled next to Derek, who was still on his back on the floor, and dabbed them against the wound. Derek caught Stiles’ hand and pressed it against his side. Stiles stared at their entangled hands and watched the napkins turn red as they soaked up blood until Derek hooked a finger under his chin and forced him to meet his gaze.

“You make a pretty good nurse.” Stiles  _ might _ be hallucinating, but he’s pretty sure Derek’s eyes just flickered down to his lips.

“Uh, thanks.”

Derek leaned in and,  _ okay _ , he was definitely not hallucinating that. Stiles let out a gush of air just before Derek’s lips brushed his, dropping the napkins in favor of pressing a hand against Derek’s hard abdomen. Derek pushed up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of Stiles’ neck. Stiles took one quick second to send a thank you prayer to the heavens before kissing back with sloppy, inexperienced enthusiasm.

Derek took his hand off Stiles’ neck to push his vest off his shoulders before grasping Stiles’ thigh, moving him so he was hovering over Derek’s body with his knees on either side of Derek’s hips and his hands braced on Derek’s shoulders.

Derek slid his one hand up to grasp Stiles’ ass tightly. He gasped, letting Derek’s tongue slip into his mouth and run across his teeth and,  _ oh god,  _ he was hard, he was achingly, embarrassingly hard just from being kissed. Derek’s hand brushed across the small of Stiles’ back before grasping firmly at his sides and flipping them, so Stiles was on his back with Derek between his legs.

Derek bit down gently on Stiles’ lower lip, pulling on it before moving to the spot behind Stiles’ ear and down his neck. When Derek got to the juncture of his neck and shoulder he bit down and pushed his hips against Stiles’. And that - that was a boner, nestled in Derek’s too-expensive pants, pushing against Stiles’ own. Stiles grasped at Derek’s sides, lightheaded, so focused on the feeling of Derek’s weight on him that he almost didn’t notice the sharp sting of a weapon pressed against his ribcage.

_ “Oh,”  _ Stiles breathed heavily, ribs expanding into the muzzle of his own gun. Derek must have lifted it while he was distracted. “Oh, you bastard.”

Derek pulled back, grinning wolfishly, and pressed the gun harder into Stiles’ side. “I told you not to call me dude,” he said before pulling the trigger. Stiles shoved him off and curled up, his fingers slipping through wet paint as he clutched his ribs. “Oh, fuck you dude, seriously, that is gonna bruise,  _ ugh,  _ I can’t believe you.”

“Sorry,” Derek snickered like the asshole he was, clearly not sorry at all. He stood and adjusted his pants. As he gripped the handle of the metal shutter he said, “There was no way we were both making it out of here alive.”

“I hate you,” Stiles said as Derek opened the shutter and jumped smoothly over the counter.

Derek looked over his shoulder at Stiles and smirked. “I know.”

“No!” Stiles shouted as Derek shot a warning round at the lingering Glee Club members. He grabbed an armful of stale muffins and started hurling them at Derek’s retreating back. “You don’t get to - I’m Han Solo!  _ I’m Han Solo!” _

But Derek was already safely out the door. God damn it.

“That’s rough, bud,” said a fallen Glee Club member from the floor. Stiles flipped him off and tried to will away his erection so he could have some sense of dignity as he made his way to his Jeep.

Outside, he found Scott sitting on a curb in the parking lot, idly scrolling on his phone.

“Suh dude,” Scott said when he noticed Stiles.

“Derek made out with me.”

“Nice.”

“And then shot me.”

“Not nice.” Scott glanced up from his screen. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna give me a ride to Denny’s?” Scott slid his phone into his pocket. “I’ll buy you a grand slam.”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

Stiles drove slowly out of the parking lot, careful not to hit any of the remaining paintball players. They were almost to the exit when Derek jumped in front of the car and slammed his fists on the hood. Stiles and Scott shrieked in a very manly fashion.

Paint covered Derek’s left forearm, dripping onto the pavement as he moved around the car to open the passenger door behind Stiles.

“You guys meeting the group at Denny’s?” He asked, heaving himself into the backseat.

“Yeah,” Stiles responded, carefully avoiding both Derek’s eyes in the rearview mirror and the significant looks Scott was giving him from the passenger seat. “Want a ride?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighed in response.

“Whelp,” Scott said, shifting awkwardly. “No six day weekends for the group.”

“Probably for the best,” Derek said, “It’ll be easier to find a class for all of us to take next semester if we’re all registering at the same time.”

Scott sat up in his seat, animated, “Yo, we should take Intro to Lacrosse! That class seems totally lit.”

Derek leaned forward between their seats, elbows on the console, and started to vehemently argue against taking any lacrosse themed class.

Stiles set his elbow on the console next to Derek’s. Derek pushed his elbow gently back against Stiles’. Stiles smiled and finally met Derek’s eyes before pulling off of campus and out onto the road. All right, if Derek wasn’t going to be awkward, neither was Stiles. He could play it cool. He was the king of cool. Who needed a ten year plan? Not Stiles. Stiles just shoved back his elbow back even harder and added, “Stop dripping paint all over my car or I’m going to leave you on the curb you freaking loser.”

Okay, so maybe his cool needed a bit of work, but he’d get the hang of it, right? He totally had this; he could figure out the details later. For now he focused on Scott’s goofy laugh, the feeling of Derek’s arm pressed against his own, and the promise of Denny’s at the end of the road.


End file.
